Unforgettable
by diva.gonzo
Summary: Ron Weasley is on duty, shadowing the Minister for the evening at a Holiday party. He spots her in the crowd not in the spotlight where he thinks she should be. He thinks back on the unforgettable witch who enchanted him - his wife, Hermione Weasley. Rated M for Ron's salty language, lemon flavored flashback, and Chapter 3 which isn't for the kids. More coming once I write them.
1. Plastisized Smiles

**Unforgettable**

Plasticized Smiles

* * *

**Standard disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Story's plot line is mine, in some fashion. I am not JK Rowling. She has better hairdressers on Christmas morning, and a warmer residence. But I bet my scarf is cooler. - D.G.**

* * *

A/N: Written for Writergirl8, Becca, and a few others as a Very Special Christmas present. Merry Christmas!

* * *

Ron Weasley stood in the spotlight, scanning the room for any perceived threats. Try as he may, he never would relax when on duty. Sure, this might be a ministry function, and he was there more for show as Kingsley's attaché tonight, but the smarmy political bastards who populated these events didn't use wands or knives for attack. These ruddy buggers used words, stilted in pretty smiles and tailored robes, but their words were vile nonetheless.

He continued to watch, taking in the dry banter that was common at these functions. Under the plasticized smiles and ornate silk lay opportunists who would jump at the chance to take down the reigning minister, if they had a bollock's worth of courage to challenge him. Most were like that sniveling rat Pettigrew – dependent on others who had courage and determination to protect them from their petty treasons.

He waited, silently begging that she would show up tonight. Hermione Granger-Weasley, his living embodiment of courage clothed in flesh, wasn't here yet. Or so he noticed. She detested the requirement of these functions, but since she was still in the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures, begging and politicking was a necessary evil.

His charge stood a few feet away, talking about some other diplomat, flowery praise that was fluffier than the candies that Hermione introduced him to last summer. Cotton Candy, she called it, after a trip to a carnival in Blackpool. The floss that stuck to his fingers that warm summer day was more substantial than the faint praise Shacklebolt was pontificating.

He scanned the room, looking for the warm chocolate eyes he could drown in. Blue eyes stole across brown ones, seated further back from the podium than should have been allowed. Damn those self-important pricks, shuttling her into a non-important table away from the spotlight. They should have her sitting up here on the dais, letting her bask in the spotlight she earned with her courage, her determination, her outpouring of blood, sweat, tears, and triumph.

He broke protocol, flashing his patented cheeky lopsided grin. A quick glance away from her, and he was back on duty, watching the crowd drink their watered down whiskey and other beverages of choice. Not his Hermione. She would save the imbibing for later, drinking him, tasting the flavors she preferred, whether from his slightly chapped lips, or from the tender flesh from his other head. Both were appreciated by his bushy haired swot of a wife.

For most present, she was reserved, prim, and considerably proper. Only in chambers, arguing for something she cared about – whether it was for better treatment for other magical creatures, or a project she was cared deeply about, would she show her passionate side, harnessing the power of her brilliant mind and her prodigious intellect to convince others to her masterful way of thinking. She could be subtle, pointed, direct, and on occasion, with another brilliant yet closed mind, manipulative.

He stole a glance back her way, covering it by scanning the room once again, and found her squirming in her seat, glaring at him. He knew she was turned on. She'd never admit it to anyone else, but just a smile twisted her knickers faster than him tonguing her nipples. The only thing that pinched his pants was catching a waft of her scent – after he flashed his lop sided grin. Normally, he'd be between her legs, basking in her warmth before diving into her tender flesh, feeling her short nails raking his scalp while he drove her to madness. His long calloused fingers, now practiced after many an hour embedded inside the love of his life, would find the one place deep inside that would rend his scalp raw when she pulled his hair, squeezing his ears painfully while she screamed his name like an epithet.

Ron pulled his focus back to Kingsley and away from his delightful memories. He'd be off duty shortly, given to another Auror so he could circle the room and watch the other tossers flaunt their self-deigned importance. Harry was fortunate. He was at home, off duty tonight. He got to spend the evening with Ginny before going on shift at 11am tomorrow. Ron would be off shift when his replacement checked in. After that, he would spend the evening with his lovely bride, showing her off to the other gits present.

She was gorgeous tonight. The wine colored wrap looked astounding on her this evening: ornate, yet delicately draped on her petite frame. The style was of her choosing, hiding with fabric the scars left by the war. A high neck, long snug sleeves, tailored to accentuate her curves that he loved to run his hands over, long in the length but slit up the side, showing off her well-toned gams. Painful high heels, giving her additional inches she wasn't blessed with. Three inches does wonders for kissing his wife, among other things. The last time she was in three inch heels left him delightful satiated. The thigh high black stockings and black lace garter belt, sans knickers, didn't hurt either.

Applause broke his reverie, and he trundled down the back of the dais. The entire wizarding world knew Ron Weasley – War Hero; one of the youngest ever to be awarded Order of Merlin, First class; on his own Chocolate Frog by 20. The last one was more important that the first two, but not as important his real claim to fame.

His claim to fame, besides having the family name of Weasley, was marrying the beautiful witch striding to his side. He had his prize before he even turned twenty one. She said yes when he proposed, in front of the entire family, in a passenger pod atop the London Eye with Westminster in the backdrop. That picture, taken by Luna herself, made the Quibbler sell out in spades, along with the Prophet other various publications.

That one photo graced the cover of hundreds of papers and magazines, and media proclamations of being the second-most anticipated wedding of the century. Nothing shouts "notice me" like using the media for their personal benefit. Hermione was mortified, but he wanted the whole world to know that she said yes. The row that morning made for some fantastic make-up sex. The grin on his face, from ear to ear and back, was worth the ribbing he got from everyone he saw at the Ministry. Hermione on the other hand was in a temper that evening, and the row from her temper led to another round of passionate shagging.

At least Harry and Ginny didn't hear them that night. Harry was on shift at the Ministry, and Ginny was at Holyhead for late practice.

Ron laughed. The first time all evening he chuckled. The second most anticipated wedding in Wizarding England – and all they can do is speculate about Harry.

The media were waiting impatiently for that specky git of a best mate to wed the belle of the ball, his sister. Their engagement announcement, in the Quibbler of course, made the headlines, and fueled controversy for weeks, from infidelity to pregnancy. It didn't hurt that it came on the coattails of his own nuptials – arranged between Ron and Harry over a pot of Irish Stew on Valentine's Day. He resented Harry, for one brief moment, before accepting the gift of a lifetime of friendship from his best mate: stepping back and letting Ron have the spotlight.

"Ah, Minister, so glad you could keep my husband so close to you. I'd begun to suspect he was intentionally ignoring me tonight."

"Ah. Director Weasley. So nice you could come this evening. Will you stay for a moment? There are a few dignitaries I'd like to introduce you to."

A small cool hand threaded into his, and off they went to meet yet another bureaucrat. He loathed the ruddy sods, but Kingsley was his wife's patron politician, and she was amenable to doing quid pro quo for him. Politically, they worked well together, and he was one of the few in his life that he trusted with his wife. No one else fought with them that day in May, and no one else fought for her once that day was over.

Ron would gladly stand in her shadow this evening if it meant that she could do more good in the world. She cast a long one, bringing notice to causes that were kept behind closed doors and under rugs for too long.

They circumnavigated the gathering, making pointless talk to various people present. He caught snippets of conversation, but most was candy floss like before. Platitudes and drivel annoyed him. He wanted his wife, hot under his hands, writhing while he indulged her insatiable desire before claiming her for his own once again. He wanted her swotty and salty, spewing coarse words that flipped his switch.

"Ah, Williamson, glad you could make it. Auror Weasley here was looking rather annoyed awaiting your arrival."

"Sorry, Sir. I was held up by Roberts down in the office."

Kingsley turned to the towering Ginger, intoning the words only for them. "Auror Weasley, You're relieved of duty."

"I stand relieved."

"Now, I think it's time to indulge that wife of yours in some dinner and dancing."

Two grins lit their little discussion.

"What say you, wife of mine? Dinner? Or dancing? The Minister has spoken."

Hermione turned and procured two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, threading her other arm with her husband. "I thought I'd never be rid of those ingrates. Annoyingly pedantic they are. Their self-importance nauseates me."

Ron grinned through his sip of champagne, grimacing at the bitter taste.

Hermione saw his reaction to the extra dry beverage, smirking the entire time. "It's not pumpkin juice, dear. It's not supposed to be sweet. That's the idea."

Ron turned and placed the flute on the table behind him, stealing one last glance around the room. As anticipated, people were gathered at the bar on the other side of the ballroom, or out on the floor designated for dancing, or on the other side of the hall at the buffet line.

A rumble of his stomach made his choice difficult.

"Did you not eat?"

Ron Weasley's patented pout made an appearance. "No, I was on duty from half five this evening with Kingsley. At least he got me out of the office. I was sick of paperwork."

"My poor husband. He's about to pass out from starvation. Come, let's feed the savage beast before he has to traipse around the dance floor."

He looked down at the cheeky witch on his arm. "You're getting me back, aren't you?"

Hermione pulled him down, blowing hot breath on his waiting ear. "Why, whatever gave you that idea, Auror Weasley? Might it be that I am enthralled with you? The way you smile, just for me, in front of the whole crowd, twists my knickers harder than anything you can do for me in public."

Soft lips and hard teeth nibbled on his ear. "Bloody Hell, Hermione, stop that."

"No, I won't. I want to show off my husband to the world, basking in the spotlight for once. When I've tormented him to his breaking point, I want him to ravish me, landing on the floor of our bedroom, making me beg for mercy while he claims me for his own."

Nail scrapes made little Ron twitch in anticipation. "Then, before the night is out and we fall asleep, shagged out stupid, I'm going to make him growl."

He tore from her grasp, looking for those warm chocolate eyes he loved to drown in. "Five minutes and we'll dance."

A grin spread across her barely painted on features. "I can wait fifteen minutes if it means you make me scream all night."

"Cheeky wench!" he growled before pulling her along to the buffet line.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was leading her husband out onto the floor, two last songs playing via the contracted DJ. Behind them, the quartet was warming up quietly, hidden behind a musical barrier.

Ron watched while swaying in some attempt at rhythm as his wife danced just for him. She was snuggled up against him, grinding her impeccable arse against his groin, enticing him with her motions. Her hands wrapped behind her head and onto his neck.

His hands were on her curvaceous hips, spreading the heat from them onto her skin through the coarse fabric. He loved that he boils her blood, or sees her wanton and lascivious side. She loves dancing, and does so just for him. She would occasionally use those three inch heels just for his benefit. Sometimes those heels were wrapped around his neck, or poking on his boney arse. And on occasion, those heels went in opposite directions while he pounded her away into the mattress of their king sized bed.

Little Ron was slowly turning into Giant Ron. "Fuck me sideways."

The music stopped. "Yes, Ronald? Something on your mind?"

Her cheek was not missed, and neither was her smirk. "I wanna take you home and shag you sideways."

"Dance with me for this song, and we can go."

He pouted again, but indulged her. "Greedy wench."

She grinned mischievously. "That's what you get for flashing me that brilliant smile during Kingsley's speech. You knew I'd get you back. Making you wait one more song should be torturous enough for my benefit."

Notes floated around the room, piano mixed with upright bass. Rhythm mixed with the harmony and the melody, creating a distinctive song. Hermione smiled, recognizing her bribe was well worth it.

_Unforgettable  
__That's what you are,  
__Unforgettable  
__Tho' near or far._

Ron looked at his wife, snuggled close in his arms while the music played. "You knew this song was coming up, didn't you?"

She glanced up at those blue eyes she loved basking in. "I did. I bribed the singer 5 galleons to play it first on their songlist."

"Hermione!"

"Kingsley told me you were on duty for him this evening, so I wanted to make tonight memorable."

"Don't you mean unforgettable?"

Ron shifted his wife in his arms, letting her feel what her closeness did to him. He looked at her, giving her the smile he saved just for her.

_Like a song of love that clings to me,  
How the thought of you does things to me.  
Never before  
Has someone been more..._

He leaned down, nestling his lips to her ear. His words were meant for her only, even in public. "I didn't realize how much you were my soul until I left."

She looked up, shock plastered on her face. A calloused finger lay upon her lips, halting her retort.

"I didn't realize that you're my everything until I walked out. Those weeks were murder."

_That's why, darling, it's incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am  
Unforgettable, too._

"The day you forgave me, after waking up, was the second best day of my life. The first was the day you said 'I do.'"

Plush lips scorched one another, forgetting the rest of the people out on the dance floor.

Their interlude lasted as long as the instrumental played by the band up on the dais.

_Unforgettable  
In every way,  
And forever more  
That's how you'll stay.  
_

She laid her head on his chest, hearing the excitement from his rapid tattoo of his heartbeat. The heat radiating off of him through his uniform felt exquisite.

"Ron?"

Long lanky arms released her from his embrace, letting her look up at him. Bright blue eyes looked down at warm chocolate ones.

"I'm ready."

_That's why, darling, it's incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am  
Unforgettable, too._

Hot hands encased cool ones, pulling her to the cloakroom. One last stop before they made their way home, and into one another's embrace.

* * *

Ch. 2 will go up this evening, with Ch. 3 up at bedtime. - D.G.


	2. Potatoes and passionate kisses

Ch. 2 Potatoes and Passionate Kisses

* * *

A black wool pea coat was flung in the front hallway. Noises echoed through the modest flat in Muggle London, close to the Ministry where they both worked.

Boots clanged in the living room, shattering a picture frame along with knocking a book off of the coffee table.

A black wool caftan along with a thrown belt landed in the miniscule kitchen.

A standard issue Auror blazer was dropped in the hallway, crumpling on the floor.

Ron slammed the door to their bedroom, crossing it in three strides to his wife who had backed up into the wall across the room. Nowhere else to run, she awaited her King in supplication. Fabric tore along the back zipper, exposing Hermione's neck to kisses that would scorch her skin. He started at her lips, proceeding down her jaw, onto the tender skin of her neck. He let up along the scar along the right side, revering it with love before attacking his second favorite place to bite on her body.

"… so sodding bad!"

Hermione raked her nails over his scalp, growing while he plundered her neck. "Hated torturing you. Knickers were wet all night waiting for you. Wished you'd jump off the stage and throw me on the nearest table."

Her navy robes were mercilessly shoved off her shoulders, left crumpled at her hips.

"Bloody hell!" was all Ron could say before attacking her pert nipples showing through the barely there lace of her black brassiere.

He shoved the lace down, freeing them before attaching his lips to the right one, working his talented fingers on releasing the clasp along the back.

She worked the dress down her hips, slithering the silk to the ground.

"Blimey!"

"Surprise."

Hermione leaned back against the wall, wearing a black garter belt, black thigh high stockings, and

"No knickers!"

"Fooled you!"

She lifted one stocking leg up, hoisting it up on his hip. She shifted on the other foot to balance on that precarious three inch strappy heel.

His hand coursed up her thigh, finding her ready and willing for him. She groaned in appreciation for his attention.

She raised her hands, and used her leverage against the wall to throw him onto the bed. "My turn my dear!"

"You're going to be the death of me, witch!"

"Quit complaining. You know you love when I do this!"

She yanked down the zipper on his black standard trousers while gently pulling them and Chudley Canon's pants over his rather impressive manhood and down his legs.

"Fuck me!"

"Eventually,dear. But I have something for you first."

Ron threw his head back on the mattress, relishing in the sensations that his wife was giving him.

* * *

The mutual torments started the first summer after their world changed. He was still grieving the loss of his brother, and her coping with the restoration of her parents. Grief kept a firm grip on them while they searched for a new normal. The only difference between the now and the Then was that they didn't realize how the year on the run, and the war itself, had changed them.

Gone was the Hermione who was brittle and fragile. Bellatrix Lestrange changed that one evening. When faced with imminent death, and no possible escape, courage was what was left after burning away the flesh of indecision. Courage was waking up to cerulean blue eyes and forgiving him for abandoning her at a crucial time. Courage was facing down the monster and living to tell about it.

Courage was also dealing as best as possible with the nightmares, her knight by her side daily for months, keeping away the memories of monsters.

The version of Hermione who emerged after the War, and the year of healing, between school and having friends and loved ones coalesce at her side, was courage made flesh, according to Ron Weasley.

Their return from Australia heralded a new normal, at least for the remainder of the summer. The Hermione whom emerged from her tormented shell had much promise. This one was playful where the old one was harsh; mischievous instead of rigid; scandalous rather than embarrassed. She was still coping with grief, guilt, and about two stone worth of weight loss. The insomnia was exhausting, and the nightmares occasionally difficult to wake her from. But the temporary solution to those nightmares was an intense round of lovemaking. Those mornings were considerably better, even if they were knackered.

The silly torments, rather than the cruel bickering, started with a hand on his leg one evening sitting at dinner at the Burrow.

* * *

"Ron, pass the potatoes."

Ron did as his mother asked before returning to the plate before him. Ham, potatoes, runner beans, fresh bread, and a salad finished off first helpings. Molly was as her word, making meals fit for an army – when it was just the four kids along with Arthur. Bill and Fleur returned to Shell Cottage when Ron and Hermione stormed out the first time. Charlie went with them and eventually caught a portkey back to Romania. George stayed with Percy, barely coherent most days when he would emerge from the spare room of the flat. Harry spent the bulk of his days the summer shadowing Kingsley, learning to become an Auror, as well as working on Grimmauld Place. He said he wanted a home to live in, even if the memories were less than pleasant. He also needed a place of his own, as much as he loved Molly and Arthur. Coming and going all hours of the night while learning from Kingsley didn't help anyone. Ginny was the worst. She was torn between spending the days with George at Percy's flat – to escape Molly if you asked her quietly – and also working through her resentment and lingering anger at Harry for not trusting her. The scars, physical and emotional, took their toll on her too. She spent time with him, out from the eyes of her Mum, learning about her friends again.

Ron tucked in with vigor, along with Arthur and Harry. Molly ate, with none of her usual enthusiasm. She was still coping as well, no matter the facade she showed. Ginny ate, but inhaled her meal like Ron, stopping after one plate then running to her room, or out on her broom for another ride. Poor Harry had no clue what was going on, and instead would go just the opposite direction, or went home to brood at Grimmauld Place. Those nights were the worst for Molly, who retired to her room early.

Tonight, the table was once again quiet, with the six of them splitting a large ham and all of the other trimmings. Quiet conversation was made, from Arthur giving the news from the Ministry, and Harry talking about what he learned from Kingsley.

Unbeknownst to the gathering at the table, a certain bushy haired know it all was being unusually daring, and moving her hand surreptitiously up Ron's leg. While performing such feats of daring, she was also holding conversation with Arthur and Harry.

An inch from her intended destination, Ron dropped his fork. The clatter on his plate broke the moment, earning him recrimination from Molly, and a grin from Hermione. Harry and Ginny looked confused, while Arthur from his seat held a hint of a smile.

The next morning, after breakfast was served and the kitchen cleaned up, Hermione was sitting at the table reading her potion book. On the table was a chocolate cake, waiting for anyone who wanted some. Harry was already gone for the day, along with Ginny and Arthur. Molly was toddling around the house, doing chores but leaving the kids alone. She wasn't happy with the previously agreed to arrangements, but she also didn't harp on them either. A fragile truce between her youngest son and his mum held.

He pulled up a chair, intending to have a nice slice of cake when he noticed she was doing something different. In her hand was a sugar quill – the only sweet treat that she would deign to put in her mouth. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was something else she treated like her favorite lolly, but with Molly in the house, flaunting that part of their relationship wasn't exactly encouraged. They didn't want resentment or recriminations from the rest of the family.

He tucked into the quarter wedge of chocolate cake, watching her slide that sugar quill in and out of her mouth. In and out; In and out. He stared in interest, watching her slide that blasted thing into that talented mouth of hers, then back out again. To the average observer, it would appear she was doing it unconsciously, but Ron Weasley knew better. This was a repeat performance of earlier this morning. When he awoke with a shout, she was grinning like a Kneazle in the creamery. One smirk and she was out the door and down to take a shower before breakfast.

Every visible swipe of her talented tongue was meant to torture him.

Ron looked at her, waiting to catch a glimpse of those beautiful brown eyes. When she looked, holding that quill like she did for him this morning, he took a finger's worth of icing, and proceeded to clean his fingertip with his tongue: One long swipe, from the third knuckle, to the tip, running his tongue around the tip, then back down the other side. It took about four circuits for the pale digit to get clean.

Each time he tickled the tip of his icing covered finger, Hermione turned a darker shade of red. By the time the finger was clean, she was squirming in her seat, looking around for Molly.

Ron glanced out the windows and saw no one either.

The two teens scrambled into the scullery, locking the door as best as possible against the intrusion of Molly Weasley – and they recreated what they just witnessed. For treacle tart or Hermione, Ron was insatiable. For Hermione, she never could get enough of Ronald Weasley.


	3. Impolite Litany

Ch. 3 Impolite Litany

* * *

"OhFuckHermione!" was all he could manage through the explosion. She never failed to deliver on making him bellow in bliss. The first act was always the shortest, the most intense, but also necessary for the festivities to continue.

He wanted to watch, but the maelstrom of colors in his vision kept him from seeing his wife and how salacious she was. _Blimey!_

Hot breath on his chest belayed the weight on his hips. Short fingernails scoring his abs told him that she needed more from him. He opened his eyes, and watched as his wife moved on his lean form, settling on him with a hiss.

"So beautiful," he muttered while watching his wife take pleasure from him. He loved watching her hair flounce around her head, the way her eyes focused on his face while she ground her hips into his. Her hands stroked his chest, dragging those short nails down his sensitive skin and up hers.

"Need more," she moaned while bouncing on her heels. "Need you. Please!"

Callous tipped fingers dug into her hips, holding her while he began to move with her. "Love you. So beautiful. Ride me. Squeeze me – make me come."

He watched her tease her breasts, worrying her lips with her teeth.

Her begging turned coarse and salty. Only here, like this, completely vulnerable, would she say such things. Hair and tits bounced, driving him mad. Her hands were everywhere: on him, on her, on the bed, in his hair. Enthralled, she was like an octopus. His hands were on her hips, teasing her, squeezing her, making her beg for more.

* * *

Soft and gentle were not the norm for Ron and Hermione Weasley. They learned that the first summer as lovers and more. Calling her his girlfriend was shallow compared to what he felt for her. She was more than his girlfriend - more than his best friend - even calling her lover was shallow.

He's bruised her before, energetic without consideration. Passionate moments, whether slamming her body under his, or grasping her slowly growing curves while he pounded her into the nearest flat surface, made them both scream in ecstasy. He cherished those moments, when she pulled his hair, or bruising his arms while he shoved her hips into a wall. The rows on his back were fun too. If only his brothers knew how insatiable she was behind closed doors. Harry and Ginny knew – scary as that was from living with one another after the girls finished school. They never questioned when he came to dinner with a bruise on his neck or his arms. At least they didn't know about his back, or arse, hips, and shoulders.

She took his volatility and channeled it into passion for her. He took her desperate need to feel, whether love or lust, and gave it in spades. She demanded he give it all, never holding back like the years they did before that iconic day. The day that his brother was laid to rest was one of the worst he ever had – and also the best too – for that was the day that Hermione made love to him.

Looking back on that day, years later, he realized that it was nothing more than Hermione giving herself up in sacrifice. She stood in the breach, turning his anger into lust. It was only later that he saw the aftermath of what he did to her. It paled in comparison to everything else that had happened to her dimutive frame. The scar on her neck – the healing wound on her arm – the burn on her chest, hiding the old one from the Ministry fight – the furrows on her shoulders – each told a story that should have never happened. The bruises on her neck and on her hips were inconsequential to her – and profound to him.

She didn't complain when he was giving them to her. She never said a word when she saw them later. Her impolite litany was what she complained about most. Only he could compel her to say such raw words.

It never stopped her from doing it again.

* * *

"Need you," she begged while straddling him, "Harder. ChristPleaseHarder."

He rolled his hips, throwing her onto the other side of their king sized bed. She landed with oomph but quickly settled into the bedclothes. The lust shown in her eyes reflected his.

"No," he growled. He slid from the bed, standing at the foot, waiting for her.

"Really?" as she slithered down the bed to him. She watched him watching her. A snarky grin spread across her face. "Well, come on, get a wiggle on."

"Cheeky wench," as he pounced on her with abandon. "BlimeyBuggeringHell!"

"MerlinRonHarder!" She moved her legs, shifting them up under his arms. He took them, throwing her ankles around his neck while he put a knee on the bed for greater leverage. He pulled her tight to him, finding spots that made her squeal in delight. "Come for me," he said in a guttural growl.

She pushed back against him, grinding upwards. A shift of her hips was all it took. A shriek along with his name was her response.

While she was incoherent, he crawled back onto the bed, lifting his wife's shapely toned legs over his thighs and pulled her back to him once again. Soft touches and caresses, on her hips, her thighs, and her sensitive skin was all she needed. It wouldn't take long, but he wanted her with him the second time around.

She opened her eyes, watching his lust glazed ones from above her. He started again, plowing on yet slow enough for her to come back to her senses. The bed rattled under their movements, as erratic and frantic as they are. Auror grade silencing charms on the surfaces of their flat held well for them. "Hermione, come with me."

She closed her eyes again, fighting the sensory overload he was giving her. Be strong, she thought to herself. The wait is almost over.

Hermione was pushed further up the bed, her head slowly sliding along the expensive sheets. The new wave of buildup was intensifying, arching her back from the bed. His hands helped lift her even higher, pulling her to him. The only thing left on the bed was her feet and shoulders. The rest was all Ron.

Her name dripped from his lips, embedded with a chorus of colorful epithets, half muttered deprecations and other salty language. She wasn't much better, her comments making no sense except for the two of them.

His hands gripped her hips tighter, using his thumbs for extra incentive. Her hands fell to her chest, finding the points that demanded attention as well. One drifted further, caressing his hand on top of her hip before moving even lower.

His ministrations lost rhythm, impulsive and unrefined, watching her hand. One touch was all she needed, delicate yet determined.

"OhG_dRonald!" was the only thing decipherable while she keened. Her grip on him was enough, and he groaned in reply. Her name dropped from his lips in enthusiastic yet broken chant.

They collapsed onto the bed, his weight impressing her body in the crumpled bedclothes. She enjoyed his weight, finding it pleasant and comforting. Only when his erratic breathing returned to normal did she shove him off, throwing his overheated and sweaty body into the next pillow.

"I think that will suffice for the moment."

Ron lifted his head from the pillow, finding the smirk on his wife's face endearing.

"But I'm sure that I'll want more in the morning."

"Greedy little wench."

"Only for you."

She slipped out of the bed, putting on her robe. "Where you going?"

"Pumpkin juice for you, and water for me."

* * *

A stop in the loo was first before going to the kitchen.

She glanced in the mirror and smiled. A bite on her neck was a given. She lived with that one place marked – even if no one else saw it. Only Ron and her Healer at St. Mungos knew about his oral fixation – or her own for that matter.

Contusions on her hips, a bite in Ron's favorite place, and a pleasant soreness from being ravished like she wanted: that was a wonderful way to start the evening. She smirked when the thought of a second round tickled her fancy.

She left the loo and quietly padded to the kitchen. No matter what, since their days at school, Ron's appetite was prodigious if not mythic. Lanky still, he complained if he didn't have three large meals a day, along with an additional three snacks, including one at midnight. His body needed nourishment to keep up with his punishing training schedule. Hermione barely kept him fed, so the snacks and treats and meals at his Mum's house helped considerably.

She poured him a huge glass of pumpkin juice while she drank a glass of water. She spied the chocolate torte on the table, courtesy of Molly, and thought a slab of dessert would be a perfect midnight snack. Hermione cut a sizeable piece to go along with his beverage.

She discarded the robe, intending to seduce once he was finished with his snack, and plated the items on a tray for his delight. A fleeting thought about chocolate icing as a temptation put a grin on her face.

She took the tray back to their bedroom, watching him wiggle his arse on top of the bedclothes. _Biteable._

"What'd you do? Get lost going to Liverpool?" He rolled over from the pillow and saw his wife's nice surprises. "Chocolate, juice and starkers? Blimey. That musta been award winning."

"Always." Hermione handed over the plate with the snacks. "My husband needs his nourishment if he's to make me scream again."

Ron tipped the glass back, finishing his juice with a gulp. "Again? You think I'm a machine?"

Hermione crawled back onto the bed while Ron was shoving a large bite of torte in his mouth. "No, certainly not a machine," as she traced the outline of his body through the sheets, "but a desire to satiate all of his appetites. Can I help that I missed you this week?"

She continued to trace her short nails through the sheet covering his naked body. He watched her use her fingers to trace the freckles on his chest, down his abdomen, over the sheet, and back up again. Hermione looked serious, like she was recommitting his body to memory.

"Cheeky wench," as Ron was hastily shoved the last of the torte into his mouth. "Let me finish this, and we'll see about round two."

Hermione watched as Ron devoured the last bite of cake, leaving a smear on his lips. He knew how turned on she would be kissing the chocolate off his lips. "I was waiting for you to say that. You still have to make me beg for mercy."

"We'll see about mercy!" as he rolled over the top of his wife, kissing her with chocolate stained lips.

* * *

My thanks to my beta N - you make my writing so much better. This goes out to writergirl8, who gave me the prompt - the song Unforgettable - and to iwanttobeaweasley for giving me the anonymous prompts that are in the story. I hope they made your day too.

This story will have more in it, as vignettes and other R/Hr loving stories - where they won't fit elsewhere. It might not be immediate - but more are coming.

Regards,

D.G.


End file.
